Zap. (l.c.). Ah! say'st thou, Othman?
Thy words have shot like lightning through my frame,
And all my soul's on fire!—thou faithful friend!
Yes, with more gentle speech I'll soothe his pride;
Regain my freedom; reach my father's tents;
There paint my countless woes. His kindling rage
Shall wake the valleys into honest vengeance;
The sudden storm shall pour on Barbarossa,
And ev'ry glowing warrior steep his shaft
In deadlier poison, to revenge my wrongs! (crosses to r.)